


The Trial of the Cynic

by capableofbeingaterror



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, Canonical Character Death, Grantaire fails at everything, M/M, Minor Enjolras/Grantaire, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capableofbeingaterror/pseuds/capableofbeingaterror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the chapter in the brick, "Enjolras and his Lieutenants" when Enjolras decides to give Grantaire a chance. The plot goes until their deaths at the barricade. It's my interpretation and uses many quotes from the brick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras listened to the chatting of the Les Amis bouncing from wall to wall. Such a joyful sound to hear, but Enjolras was alright to disrupt it.

"It's just as well to know where one stands and whom one can count on." He began in a loud voice to carry into the darkest corners of the café. "How many of us are there? No point in putting it off. Revolutionaries should always be in a hurry; progress has no time to waste. We must be ready for the unexpected and not let ourselves be caught out."

The blonde leader surveyed the room. "Courfeyrac," His eyes rested upon the cheerful dandy. "you can call on the polytechnic students, its their free day. Today is Wednesday, isn't it?" Then he turned to Feuilly. "You can call on the workers at Glaciere.

"Combeferre has said he'll go to Picpus, there are a lot of good men there. Prouvaire, the stone-masons show signs of cooling off, you'd better find out how things are at the lodge in the Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore. Joly can look in at the Dupuytren hospital and take the pulse of the medical students," Enjolras glanced at Joly and could see the cheerful hypochondriac found the fact he was attempting to be more humorous than the humor itself. "and Bossuet can do the same with the law students at the Palais de Justice. I'll do the Cougourde."

"And that's the lot," Courfeyrac said. Enjolras returned his gaze to the dandy and shook his head.

"No."

"What else is there?"

"Something very important." Enjolras replied and pressed his lips into a tight line in thought.

"What's that?" Combeferre asked.

"The Barriere du Maine." Enjolras explained simply and continued to stare as if looking past everyone, obviously deep in thought.

"There are marble workers at the Barriere du Maine. They're keen, on the whole, but inclined to blow hot and cold. I don't know what's got into them recently." Enjolras continued, his voice still thoughtful. "It's important for someone to go and talk to them, and bluntly. Their place is the Café Richefeu and they're always there between twelve and one.

"I was going to send that dreamy character, Marius, but he doesn't come here any more. I've got no one to send." He finished. His heart was heavy, although it didn't show. He had wished not to lose them, and now it seemed he had no choice.

"There's me," said Grantaire, interrupting the Greek god's mournful thoughts. "I'm here."

"You?" Enjolras asked in doubtful shock. Why would the cynic volunteer?

"Why not?" Grantaire shrugged.

"You'll go out and preach republicanism, rouse up the half-hearted in the name of principle?" Enjolras demanded, still quite doubtful. What was the man playing at?

"Why shouldn't I?" the drunkard countered as he folded his arms across his chest. Enjolras paused, seemingly to sum the cynic up. It was true that there was great need for another voice.

"Would you be any good at it?"

"I'd quite like to try." Grantaire said with a hint of sincerety in his slightly slurred voice.

"You don't believe in anything." Enjolras retorted a little angrily. Was this just another game? Just another mockery?

"I believe in you."

Those words shocked Apollo and he stood unmoving for a moment.

"Grantaire, do you really want to do me a service?" Enjolras asked.

"Anything you like – I'd black your boots." Grantaire confirmed. Enjolras curled his lip in disgust. Then it was just a mockery, just like all the other times.

"Then keep out of our affairs. Stick to your absinthe." And the blonde leader turned away.

"That's ungrateful of you, Enjolras." Enjolras thought he sensed a small amount of pain in the voice and he turned back. Perhaps he had been ungrateful. Did the cynic not also deserve a chance? It was not up to Enjolras to decide who was worthy of helping. This was not for himself, nor was it his revolution. "their revolution" was a more appropriate wording, or perhaps simply, "the people's".

"You really think you're man enough to go to the Barriere du Maine? You'd be capable of it?" Enjolras asked, still rather doubtful, but more willing.

Grantaire scoffed. "I'm quite capable of walking along the Rue des Gres, up the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince to the Rue de Vaugirard, along the Rue d'Assas, across the Boulevard du Montparnasse and through the Barriere to the Café Richefeu. My boots are good enough."

"What would you say to them?" Enjolras inquired. He truly wanted to believe Grantaire was capable of this and that perhaps the cynic was not as cynical as he appeared, but he could not risk failiure.

"Well," began Grantaire. "I'd talk to them about Robespirre and Danton and the principles of the Revolution." The look on Enjolras' face was priceless.

"You would?"

"Yes, me. Nobody does me justice. When I really go for something I'm tremendous! I've read Prudhomne and the Contract Sociel and I know the Contitution of the Year Two by hear. 'The liberty of the citizen ends where that of another begins.' Do you think I'm an ignoramus? The Rights of Man, the Sovereignty of the people, I know the lot."

"Be serious," Enjolras interrupted a little crossly.

"I'm madly serious." Grantaire replied with a wild grin. Enjolras studied Grantaire and remained deep in thought for a few minutes. The cynic did seem to at least know what it was they believed in, even if he seemed so often to disagree, and Enjolras couldn't send no one.

Besides this, Enjolras desperately wanted to believe that Grantaire was not a useless cynical drunkard who had no other cares. Enjolras wanted Grantaire to be a good man. He firmly believed there was good inside of everyone, and he believed this about Grantaire as well, no matter how hard the drunk tried to prove him otherwise. Though, Enjolras had been beginning to lose hope for Grantaire.

"Very well, Grantaire," he said soberly. "I'll give you a trial. You shall go to the Barrierre du Maine."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjolras had finished speaking to the men at the Cougourde. It had gone quite well and he was confident they would join them at the barricades. He was in good spirits and wondered how his friends were doing. He imagined well. Enjolras' mind wandered to Grantaire. How was the cynic doing with his task? It was worth checking on him. Perhaps Enjolras would see that the man was not so hopeless after all.

He opened the door and paused. There was no speech being made, and no sign that one had ever been given. Then he heard a voice that he knew well and turned towards its source.

"Double six." The booming voice of an outspoken drunkard said.

"Four."

"Blast! I can't go." The man with curled dark hair lamented.

"You'll have to pass. A two."

"A six." The cynic was playing a game and Enjolras could see he would not stop anytime soon. Enjolras' good mood was replaced by anger and a feeling of betrayal. Not only of his trust, but of France and the people! Enjolras turned away and left promptly. He didn't notice that the cynic had looked up. He hadn't seen the look of anguish and regret on the drunkard's face.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras looked up from his writing as the sound of the door opening filled his ears. He discovered that the figure was his closest friend, Combeferre.

"I walked past Joly on the way here and we have excellent news! The people at both the Picpus and the Dupuyren have responded quite well to our words. I believe they will join us!" Combeferre reported happily, but his countenance quickly fell when he noticed the look on his friend's face. "What's troubling you, mon ami?" He asked quietly.

Enjolras could feel the blood inside himself boiling. "Grantaire has failed his task. I checked on him once I finished at the Cougourde and found him playing dominoes and drinking! I trusted his word and he betrayed that trust. He cannot be part of us if we cannot trust him with anything!" He paused to gather his thoughts and calm down a little. "I wanted to believe he could do it, but he has proven me wrong. What should I do, Combeferre? He is a disgusting drunkard who cares nothing for the people or the troubles of this world, and yet I cannot exile him."

Combeferre sighed. "Perhaps he truly did want to please you. He is only human, Enjolras, and humans succom to weakness. Even you." He could see his friend open his mouth in calm protest, but Combeferre held up a hand. "I know you do not believe yourself to be without flaws. You are not so foolish. But you have to be more patient with Grantaire.

"you know gambling and drinking are tempting to him. I am certain he went to the café intent on completing his assigned task, but someone must have offered to play with him. When our cynical friend returns, why not speak to him?" the medical student finished.

"Thank you, mon ami, I will try." Enjolras agreed and returned to his papers.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cynic, however, did not return. He did not return that night, nor did Enjolras hear from him the next morning. The days progressed as usual with little difference or incident.

"perhaps you should speak with him, Enjolras." Jean Prouvaire suggested in his wise young voice. "He is afraid of what you'll say. Grantaire seems to care for nothing, but yet I think he values your opinion of him."

Enjolras nodded and stood. "Do you know where he lives, Prouvaire?"

"Oui, here is the address." The poet replied and pressed a note into Enjolras' hand. The latter nodded his thanks and left, studying the note as he went.

The address was a squalor apartment Which fit Grantaire's appearance well. The windows were covered in grime, the steps were worn, and it smelt of mold.

Enjolras went inside and found an old woman washing the stairway "Bonjour,madam, could you tell me where Grantaire is?"

The old woman looked up from her work, unhappy at being interrupted, and nodded. "In there, Monsieur." she gestured to a door to Enjolras' left with her wrinkled hand.

"Thank you." Enjolras replied and walked up to the previously mentioned door. The door seemed even more worn to his eyes than the rest of the apartment had thus far. He knocked firmly, but when there was no reply, he called, "Grantaire, let me in!"

There was a groan and an, "Apollo?" But after a few minutes, the door swung open and our favorite cynic stood before the puritan leader. The stench of the room filled Enjolras' nostrils and it was difficult not to collapse, but he managed. "What do you want?" Grantaire asked in a tone difficult to place a name on. It was miserable, but there are many combinations for which that name could be assigned.

"you have not made yourself known to the Les Amis in many days." Enjolras began. "Perhaps we should talk."


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire allowed his blond idol inside and invited him to sit. Enjolras sat on the edge of the chair and attempted to control his lip from curling in disgust at the smell of alcohol, drunkenness, and an unkept room.

"you wanted to talk." Grantaire reminded him gruffly and took a swig from a mostly emptied bottle.

"Yes," Enjolras agreed. "I-"

"I know I failed. You don't need to tell me that, my dear Apollo." The cynic interrupted. Enjolras stiffened and regarded the man coldly.

"that wasn't what I intended to say." his tone was cool. "I would like to know why."

"Im quite drunk. You'll have to be slightly more specific I'm afraid." the drunkard replied with an infuriating smirk.

"Why haven't you returned?" Enjolras rephrased.

the cynic emptied the remains of his bottle and looked away. "I knew you would be disappointed in me. Just like you were when you found me playing dominoes or whatever I was doing that day." Grantaire's voice had lost all it's sarcasm and cleverness. Now it was only pain and self loathing.

"I am disappointed, but if you had returned at least you could have explained your actions." the blond countered In the same cold tone.

"what could would it have done?" Grantaire demanded. "You wouldn't understand. You're beyond all weakness! You soar above all us mere mortals and yet you only wish to help us. Your goodness is wasted on an unforgiving world!"

Enjolras was surprised by the outburst. "Grantaire, you're wrong. I am not better than any other man, I only see the world differently than some."

"No," Grantaire shook his head firmly. "You are no mere man. You're a beautiful angel from some other realm." He knew he was speaking far too openly with his hero, but hecouldn't help it. He reached for another bottle. Enjolras took this opportunity to interrupt.m

"I'm a twenty-three year old man. My parents are bourgeois and I attend a university. Grantaire, you are delusional because of your drink." Enjolras stated patiently, but still coldly. "I truly am a man. Just as Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, and the others."

there was a heavy silence once the leader spoke those words.

"You show no weakness. You have no lusts, no pleasures, no temptations, no fear. You cannot make me believe you are less than Apollo himself, god of the sun, for you are more beautiful than any creature I have ever beheld. You shouldn't have come here, Enjolras. You should have left me to my drink." Grantaire spoke in miserable awe. Enjolras was revolted by the adoration in the cynics voice. It seemed as though the man worshipped him, and this Enjolras could not allow.

"Stop." The blond spoke calmly, but with god-like authority and power. Grantaire obeyed and pressed his lips tightly together. "why did you fail? Why didn't you do as I asked?" Enjolras asked to change the subject.

"I wanted to. I walked in and formed a plan in my mind, decided what to say, but then," Grantaire took a gulp of the vile liquid. "They offered to play and bight me a drink. you don't understand weakness, but that is mine. it numbs the emptiness inside of me."

Enjolras scoffed. "You are only empty because you lack belief! You are not capable of living, or eating, or sleeping, or dying! You believe life is a hopeless waste and spend your time indulging far too much in pleasures.

"What good is a life wasted on giving in to weakness and forgetting about other?"

"You're remarkable." was Grantaire's only response. It was spoken as one might sound gazing upon a beautiful scene or into the eyes of a lover.

"If you wish to return, there is no one there who will stop you." Enjolras said as he stood and began walking to the door. He had had enough of this foolishness. Besides, he had wasted valuable time that could have been better spent on France. Enjolras couldn't help Grantaire if the cynic wouldn't help himself.

"No, no, don't leave!" The drunk slurred and tried to stand, but wobbled too much and fell back into his chair loudly. Enjolras looked at Grantaire.

"Sleep away your drunken haze. perhaps then you will see reason." Then the angel walked to the door and flew away.

Jean Prouvaire looked up as Enjolras reentered the café Musain.

"Did you speak with him?" The poet inquired kindly.

"Yes, but it has accomplished little. I cannot say whether he is to return or not, but I did tell him that he could if he wished." Enjolras answered and then turned to the others. "We will hold a rally tomorrow in front of Lamarque's house. Prouvaire, you will be our watchman to see if we've caught unwanted attention.

"Courfeyrac, you will speak with me. Feuilly, Joly, Bahorel, Lesgle, and Combeferre, you will help distribute pamphlets." Enjolras instructed before pulling Jehan and Combeferre aside.

"We must spend the remainder of our time here preparing pamphlets for the next rally. Tomorrow's have already been prepared, but we will need more. They mustn't be the same each time." The leader said. the two others nodded in agreement.

Once the pamphlets were plotted out, Enjolras allowed Prouvaire and Combeferre to leave. The others had left an hour or so ago.

The leader was packing up, putting his papers into his satchel and readying his mind for sleep, when the door opened. Enjolras looked up puzzled and found Grantaire standing in the doorway.

"You've returned I see." Enjolras spoke first. "Although you've come a little late."

"I think I'll come back." Grantaire said gruffly, but then paused and softened his voice and expression a little. "If you don't mind."

"I've already told you I don't. Now go home! There is a rally tomorrow in front of Lamarques house if you care to come. Goodnight." and Enjolras left again.


	4. Chapter 4

On the 4th of June in the year 1832, the member of Les Amis de l'ABC were in the backroom of the Musain as usual. The night air felt warm for June as if it too supported their cause. Yes, this was the night before the rarely recorded rebellion of the same month and year and Enjolras and his comrades were preparing for battle.

The evening began with chatter as always, but Enjolras quickly put a stop to it.

"Citizens, the time is at hand! Tomorrow we shall meet at the funeral of Lamarque and there we will begin the people's fight. Sleep well tonight in the knowledge that the following days will bring freedom and equality for all along with proper justice!" Enjolras declared with a passion matched by few and surpassed by none. There were cheers of agreement as his friend's gazed upon their leader.

"There is much to be done before the night is over, so let us go about it!" Enjolras finished and looked to Combeferre. The cynic sat in his dark corner partaking in a foul drink. His eyes were dark and his heart ached for his friends. How foolish of them! the drunkard stood and stumbled over to Enjolras, grabbing him by the arm.

"Grantaire, if you will not help, go back to your corner!" Apollo snapped and shook the other's arm away.

"You are sending them to their death! For you, a great god, it must seem like nothing, but these men are young and foolish! You haven't even acknowledged to them that many, if not all of you, will die!" Grantaire replied desperate to make the leader see reason.

"They are not blind, winecask, they are aware of the risks." Enjolras answered coolly. "You would have us stay quietly in the shelter of our homes as many suffer? You would turn away from the beggars at your feet? You disgust me." he spat.

Grantaire stumbled backwards as if he had been hit, but Enjolras paid no more mind to him. The Greek god went to join the others in preparing weapons and tables for the morrow.

The next morning, once the barricade had been established, Enjolras stood with musket in hand, surveying their battlefield. He could hear the drunken cries of Grantaire from inside the café, and finally, having enough of them, turned to look at the man.

"Grantaire," he called, "go sleep your wine off somewhere else. Do not dishonour the barricade." He had not expected his words to have any effect on the cynic, but suddenly the man appeared sober. He sat down with his elbows on a table by the window and gazed so sweetly upon Enjolras that it caused the latter great uneasiness.

"You know I believe in you!"

"Go away." Enjolras replied sternly.

"Let me sleep here, and if need be, die here."

Enjolras looked scornfully at him.

"Grantaire, you are incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying."

"You'll see." replied Grantaire gravely. Enjolras glared at him once more and turned away. There was still much to do.

Enjolras' heart was soaring as he glanced around at his friends. The blond was not a fool; he knew many of his friends were likely to fall. But he believed it would be worth it if it brought peace to his country. The man was cold and brave and seemed inhuman, but he truly loved all those who stood around them. He was not sending lambs to a slaughter, but rather his friends. Still, he would gladly do it for the republique.

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Enjolras turned to the source of the sound and found a man standing under an open window. The windowsill held up the head of a dead man. Rage filled Enjolras' entire being as his mind was brought back to '89. The French Revolution had been great, it's leaders inspired, but there had been no order and they had killed without consequence. Enjolras did not wish it to happen again. They would only kill those who must be killed in order for peace and true justice to rein.

This man who had shot another was a murderer and so he must be punished as such. The beautiful but terrible angel laid a hand on the criminal's shoulder.

"On your knees." He commanded in a menacingly quiet voice. The man turned to confront the white cold face of Enjolras, who had a pistol in his other hand. When Le Cabuc, the man in question, did not move, Enjolras repeated the order.

"On your knees," and with an imperious gesture the slender youth of twenty, compelling the muscular broad-shouldered dock-worker to bend like a reed before him, forced him to kneel in the mud. Le Cabuc tried to resist, but seemed to be in the grip of a superhuman power. Enjolras, with his girlish face, his bare neck and untidy hair, had at that moment something of the look of an antique god. His expression was that of chaste and righteous anger which in the ancient world was the face of justice.

The men of the barricade came to look upon the scene and were unable to utter a word as they watched their leader.

Le Cabuc made no further attempt to struggled and was now trembling violently. Enjolras, still in his anger, released his hold on the other and got out his watch.

"Pray or ponder. You have one minute."

"Mercy!" The murderer gasped, and then, with his head bowed, fell to muttering inarticulate profanities. The others were still watching in horror and Combeferre was close to protesting, but couldn't bring the words from his mouth. Enjolras did not remove his eyes from his watch, and when the minute had passed he returned it to his pocket. He gripped Le Cabuc by the hair, and as the man knelt screaming, pressed the muzzle of the pistol to his ear. His heart was beating hard against his chest with anger, but also adrenalin at what his body knew he was to do. He closed his fingers around the trigger.

The shot rang out, the murderer fell face down on the cobbles, and Enjolras, straightening, gazed sternly and assuredly about him. He thrust aside the body with his foot and said:

"Get rid of that."

As he watched the body be removed, Enjolras stood deep in thought. His mind circled around what he had just done. He had executed a man. This man, although he had done wrong, had not been trying to harm Enjolras. The act was not self preservation, it was killing. It was murder, but also justice. It was the first blood Enjolras had taken with his own hand, and although he remained outwardly calm, his conscience was bothering him.

After a pause, Enjolras raised his head.

"Citizens," he began. "what that man did was abominable and what I have done is horrible. He killed, and that is why I killed. I was obliged to do it, for this rebellion must be well disciplined. Murder is an even greater crime here than elsewhere. We are under the eyes of the revolution, priests of the republic, the tokens of a cause, and our actions must not be subject to calumny. Therefore I judged this man and condemned him to death." He paused here for half a second, a pause barely noticed by the others. "But at the same time, compelled to do what I did but abhorring it, I have passed judgement on myself, and you will learn in due course what my sentence is."

The others stared on at the man they trusted and followed. They wished to protest, but could not for the second time that night. Finally, Combeferre stood and took a step towards his brother.

"We will share your fate." the medical student replied.

"It may be," Enjolras agreed as he locked eyes with Combeferre. "I have more to say. In executing that man, I bowed to necessity, but necessity was a monster conceived in the old world, and its name is fatality. By the law of progress, this fatality must give way to fraternity. This is a bad moment for speaking the word 'love'; nevertheless, I do speak it, and glory in it. Love is the future. I have had to resort to death, but I hate it. In the future, citizens, there will be no darkness or lightnings, no savage ignorance or blood feuds. No man will kill his fellow, the earth will be radiant, mankind will be moved by love. That time will come, citizens, the time or peace, light, and harmony, of joy and life. It will come. And the purpose of our death is to hasten its coming."

Enjolras fell silent. His virgin lips closed. Combeferre and Jean Prouvaire clasped hands and stared at Enjolras in a mixture of admiration and compassion. They both could see the struggle within him. Combeferre because he was the man's closest friend; Prouvaire because he could see the heart of every living creature.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning came and they fought. They fought body to body, hand to hand, with pistol-shots, sabre-thrusts, bare fists, from above and below, from all quarters, the roof of the house, the windows of the tavern, the vent holes of the cellers into which some had slipped. They were one against sixty.

Enjolras watched as Bossuet, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, and Joly were all killed in quick succession, and then as Combeferre was pierced by three bayonet thrusts while picking up a wounded soldier. his last death delivered a large blow upon Enjolras' heart, but still he fought. There was no time to grieve his friends, and they had died honorably.

To every man upon this earth,

death cometh soon or late

but every man may give his life

for something good and great.

And how can man die better

than in facing fearful odds

for the ashes of his fathers

or the temples of his gods.

Enjolras smiled slightly at that thought. He alone was unscathed, but it was not because he was trying to spare himself. He put himself in the line of fire as much as all the others had, but it seemed that fate would spare him for a later time.

When most of his men were dead, Enjolras called to the few remaining men and they entered the café.

"We must sell our lives dearly!" Enjolras said as the door was secured. They nodded at his words and seemed unafraid. "Let us go upstairs!" he cried as the soldiers scaled the barricade and came towards the tavern. The men obeyed and hacked away at the stairway.

The door burst open and Enjolras breathed heavily along with his fellows. There was silence for a moment before the sound of terrible fire. All those around him fell, and in a moment, Enjolras alone was standing.

As he stood there, he cast his eyes around. They fell upon a form, slumped upon a table. It was Grantaire. Anger burned inside the Greek god's chest. This man was asleep as their friends fought and died for freedom. This coward hid and drank and slept as the battle roared in the distance. Enjolras knew martyrdom was not the right course for all. If all men died martyrs, who would be there to rise up again? Who would be there to live in a better world?

Grantaire, however, was not one of those to live on in a better world. The man was not alive, but he would never die. He was in limbo already though his heart continued to beat.

His hateful thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the half-broken stairs.

"He's the leader!"

"Shoot me," said Enjolras, flinging away the remains of his weapon. He folded his arms defiantly and offered them his chest. He was unafraid.

"I feel as if I'd be shooting a flower." A member of the National Guard commented and lowered his weapon. Enjolras regarded him sternly but did not speak.

A sergeant called, "Take aim!", but an officer intervened.

"Wait," he said. "Would you like to be blindfolded?" his voice was surprisingly kind.

"No." Enjolras replied without hesitation or fear.

"Is it really you who killed the artillery sergeant?" The man asked again, unable to believe this beautiful youth had committed such a crime.

"Yes." Came the answer.

"Take aim!" the order was repeated.

"Long live the Republic! I am one of them!" Grantaire had risen to his feet. Enjolras looked at the figure in wonder and confusion. He could see the blazing light of battle, which the cynic had taken no part in, shining in his eyes.

"Long live the Republic!" Grantaire repeated and walked steadily across the room to stand beside Enjolras. Enjolras watched him and could see the drunkenness was gone. The man was sober and was taking a stand for the Republic and for the cause. As impossible as it seemed, it was so, and Enjolras was truly shocked for the first time in his life.

"Might as well kill two birds with one stone." Grantaire said; and then, turning to Enjolras, he added gently. "If you don't mind."

In a single graceful movement, Enjolras clasped his hand and smiled. The cynic returned the smile, but neither one had finished when the volley rang out.


End file.
